Garden

How often have I failed to see
The meaning in the mundane, plain,
And your emotions, a mystery,
I vanished from your gaze, in vain.

Your garden of greenery and bloom,
Did not captivate my restless mind.
Your gaze, tender yet shy, in the gloom,
Like memories of twenty years behind.

Your garden bloomed, in gentle white,
Then suddenly turned a rosy hue.
I was absent, lost in my own plight,
Both in the evening and morning dew.

So quietly and faintly it passed by,
My entire life, while you waited there,
In the garden, with hopeful sigh,
I finally understood, I'll come to your lair.

I'm here, and you're walking towards me,
Through the garden, your hair now white,
As if delighted by the blossoming tree,
But spring has faded, out of sight.

Let's find meaning in the garden's chores,
In the warmth of autumn's gentle rays.
The final reward, as nature adores,
A blackcurrant, bestowed, it conveys.

So much yellow in the portrait's frame,
A window overlooking the garden's grace.
But blue takes priority, its vibrant claim,
In the sky, in puddles, and in your gaze.